This I Know
by Gaara and his Little Panda-kun
Summary: Peregrin Took is well aware that just because you want something, does not mean it is already yours. The message burns deeper when Faramir is involved, he notices. Unrequited love, Pip/Faramir, Pippin!centric. I wrote this after watching all three films: EXTENDED.


I know it was never fair for me to assume that I could get what I wanted. To be completely truthful, I have never really expected to get anything that I truly desired-only that which I deserved. I accepted that which I could get my hands on, that which I was given, but never did I really expect any more. In the end, I guess that's what saved me.

I had noticed, a long time ago, that I had a strange aversion to all things serious; many times had pretty women of the Shire asked me to accompany them to the bar, or an event, but I had never felt the need or want to say yes. I had always been more attached to my good friend Merry than to any of the people who had ever taken a fancy to me. And most of the time, I didn't notice that they fancied me anyway. I was usually off on a small adventure, raiding Farmer Maggot's for the tastiest of vegetables, or dancing on tabletops at the Green Dragon. I had never needed anyone else than him, and my friends, and Gandalf, of course.

And when we had been coerced into an adventure bigger than any I'd ever been on before, how could I refuse? How could I go back, after being pursued by a faceless being on the back of a nightmare horse? I could not, and I really didn't feel the want to; the adventure was titillating, the adrenaline rush more than satisfactory to keep me on my toes and make my thirst disappear. Who needed romance, who needed marriage, who needed dreams of familial and domestic bliss, when I had my friends, an adventure, and good food with me?

Even when things turned sour-Frodo being stabbed, taking the blame for Moria, Frodo being stabbed (yet again), being captured, Boromir's death, the incident with the Palantir-I had never wanted to be anywhere else. I wanted to be there for everyone, to make them laugh, to bring the frivolities with me. Dancing to victory on the tabletops of Edoras was more than a fortuitous bout of serendipity; it was like I had been destined to be there. The pain was worth the laughter that followed, and the suffering was worth the living we could do after.

The separation from Merry, however, was much harder to take, more difficult to understand than the death of Boromir, than Frodo and Sam leaving our fellowship. I had never been where he was not, and it suddenly felt like a piece of me was missing. I felt like I was stiff, lifeless, two-dimensional. There was no-one with whom I could joke, or smoke my pipe with. Gandalf was his usual serious and mystifying self, and so our only conversations were of the upcoming war and of the things that were to be. Despite feeling selfish for doing so, I longed endlessly for someone with whom I could share a word that wasn't laced with apprehension, fear, or forboding.

We rode out to the aid of Gondor's men, Gandalf and I, after he noticed that they were being assaulted during their retreat by the Nazgul. I had felt more comfortable on the back of Shadowfax due to our three-day journey just to get to Minas Tirith, and Gandalf had successfully deterred the winged beasts with a powerful blast from his staff (I really have no idea why he had asked me to accompany him in the first place; I assume it was out of the hope that if I remained with him then I could do nothing foolish). Upon entering the gates, the men were dismounting their horses and patching one another up, and Gandalf and I were approached by a man, who spoke to him as though he knew him very well, and called him 'Mithrandir'.

I had barely noticed what he had said, too focused on staring at him to really pay much attention to what was going on. I knew instantly from how he was addressed that he was the Captain, who I had been told previously was Denethor's son, Faramir. I could see the relation between he and Boromir; they both had strong faces, but gentle eyes that exuded a friendly warmth laced with valor. But he was also infinitely different, from the sort of kindness in his eyes to the humble way with which he carried himself. His hair was a shade lighter, his features a slight bit softer, his voice not quite as strong, but by no means frail. He was, to me, a strange sort of man. For all the men I had met on our journey, he was different from them in every way.

And then, he looked at me. His gaze grew suddenly intense, and I felt myself grow light-headed. I averted my gaze, trying to escape his intent stare, wondering why it bothered me that he was scrutinizing me. Gandalf registered the sudden change in atmosphere, and the subject soon changed to Frodo and Sam. The strange stare was forgotten underneath the bout of joy that overflowed within me at the thought of Frodo and Sam being seen, alive and well, just two days previous! It meant that they were okay! I ignored the sudden weight of what Gandalf had said (what or where was Cirith Ungol, anyway?) and reveled in the first bit of optimistic news since the founding of the Southfarthing weed in Saruman's storeroom. Our mission was not hopeless!

Having sworn my allegiance to Lord Denethor, I was outfitted with a suit of mail destined for a (rather small) Guard of the Citadel. Gandalf had told me not to worry; that Guards rarely saw combat anyway, being personal bodyguards for the Steward (or King, whichever was present) of Gondor instead of warriors sent out to fight. Rarely were they too far from the Ruler of Gondor at any moment. It made me a little less anxious, but only just that; a little. I was still nervous, having very little to offer a Lord of Men. What could Hobbits, a rather unruly folk more content with the base things in life than riches, do for Men, who were more complex, more logical, more driven by different things? I had even asked myself aloud what I could do for such a being.

Of course, I wasn't alone, and I ought to have known it. Faramir was around, obviously being the next rightful Steward, as well as Captain of Minas Tirith's military. He happened across me just as I uttered my conundrum, being more than happy to offer a few kind words to me. "Generous deeds should not be checked by cold council," he had said, and I had taken it to heart. I had offered my service to him, and that in itself was a gift worthy of a Steward of Gondor. I thought then, for sure, that he would dismiss me to attend to his other duties, but to my surprise, he had asked more of what I was to be doing.

And then we spoke of him, of his past, and I found myself suddenly elated as we laughed; I realized that, for once, I was speaking to a warrior of matters other than war, and it gave me a feeling deeply akin to relief. I had never spoken to anyone who had been so close to a sword's edge without having my ear talked off about it. It was refreshing, to know that Faramir remembered a life outside of wartime, and was still capable of laughing, as if the world wasn't in waiting for a struggle to gain control over a man's kingdom; the catalyst for a seizure of the world.

Faramir left me, then, after I paid him a small compliment of his strength. A different kind, though, different than the one Boromir showed. His was of the physical nature, full of courage and determination. Faramir's strength lied deep within the wisdom he held close to his heart, the logic that kept him in check. He amazed me, being so multi-faceted; a calculating leader one moment and a kind, friendly man with a quick smile the next.

I later found myself recalling the way he had looked at me; shocked, amazed, as if he'd never seen anything like me before, and yet he had. Then, why was his look so strange? Was it because he thought I had something to do with Frodo? That was, of course, the obvious conclusion, and yet... I only found myself hoping that I was something unlike anything he'd ever seen. I wondered why, though, finding this whole 'wanting' thing to be a little different from what I had originally found myself gravitating toward. What happened to the Pippin who was uninterested in anything but a laugh, good weed, ale, food, and company?

I had to abandon my thoughts to see to Lord Denethor, not surprised at all that Faramir would be present. The pressing urgency of the forces heading toward Minas Tirith was blinding, no doubt crushing Faramir's schedule into a rumpled ball of indiscernible words-and when did I become so long-winded and expressive about things? I took a brief moment to think on it; I hadn't necessarily been laconic before (ah! and these words; where **am **I getting them from?), but that didn't mean I was also overly analytic, like I was acting now. Faramir himself was a bit terse himself, but that wasn't because he didn't wish to convey things in detail; I think it was because, being a captain, and all, you have to say a lot in a small amount of time, and it eventually sort of fades into your real life (assuming doing battle with ugly goblin-things isn't your actual real life).

My inner monologue on real life and what being a captain did to your style of speech almost drowned out the sorrow of the conversation that was occurring before me, but not quite. I got chills when Denethor sent his son out on the battlefield with nothing but his last words being an essential 'I'll love you if you die' kind of thing. I had never met anyone in the entirety of my life who made as little sense as Denethor did to me. Not only was he a failing steward, but he was also a selfish parent; and besides, how could he **not **adore Faramir? Faramir was doing everything in his power to please his father, even going off on a suicide mission to earn his love; it was unfair to him! And as I sang to the beast eating at the table, my mind was on Faramir, racing out to a city that even I knew couldn't be saved. I adored him all the more for the courage that he was showing, for the devotion and dedication to a father that was so blinded by his own grief and the afterglow of his dead son that he completely disregarded the one that was still alive.

I hadn't expected Faramir to come back; I had concluded that he was dead when my song did not echo in the large chamber, despite its many walls. The air was thick with the intangible stench of oncoming war, and I was made ill by everything. Anxiety for the upcoming battle rendered me sleepless at night, and now Faramir's fate was weighing heavily on me. I wondered vaguely if the Shire had any idea as to what was going on in the rest of the world; how close we were to destruction, despite living peacefully on farms, drinking our ales and smoking our pipes. I began to think of Merry, and I wondered if he would try to get to Minas Tirith, or stay behind in Edoras, where it was safe. In the end, I had decided to smoke the rest of the pipe weed and let myself think of all the things I missed about the Shire.

Upon news of Faramir's return, my heart rose, then abruptly sank. His was the only horse that had returned, and he wasn't even riding; two arrows had become lodged in his chest. They had carried him to Denethor, who had instantly taken him for dead; I looked upon the scene and ran to him when Denethor was looking away, mourning the last of his family line and stumbling about like a man starved and parched. I looked at Faramir's pale face, and saw no movement of his eyelids, no twitch of his lips, nothing to betray any life that could have lingered in him. I almost lost hope... before I saw the faint flicker of a pulse in his neck, just below his skin. He was alive! I tried to tell Denethor, but nothing could punch through his hysteria; his son was dead, and that was all that mattered to him. Gandalf quickly seized control of the situation, of course, putting Denethor to rest and taking control of the soldiers of Minas Tirith to establish some kind of defense against the armies that had already encroached upon the White City.

Gandalf, however, was not there to help when he awoke; and it took both of us to save him from early cremation at the hands of his delusional father. The moment he opened his eyes, I thought I had been shocked into total awareness; it was as though I had never been awake before, and now I was suddenly in control of every nerve ending within me, every fiber of my being. I was so overjoyed that he was alive, I didn't even care that I had just scorched the gloves I had been loaned, or the way I had abandoned my post and disobeyed orders. I was only glad that he was alive. And then I realized why.

Why, that is, I was so happy he was alive. Why I had been anxious for him to return from the battlefield. Why I had wanted to be something out of the ordinary to Faramir, something different from even Frodo and Sam. I was in love with Faramir, the son of the late Steward of Gondor.

I had always been accustomed to not getting what I wanted, though, so I had occupied myself with getting through the fight and staying near Gandalf; as near as I could be without getting into trouble, anyhow. And then, when the battle was over, my priority was not in going to the Houses of Healing to check on Faramir, but to find Merry, who I had heard had gone out to battle with Theoden and his men. I had spent all day trying to find him, and finally came across him under a stinking Orc carcass, next to an oliphaunt. I barely marveled at what I had previously thought to be mere fairy-tale, more concerned with getting Merry free from the heavy body above him. When I uncovered him, I nearly sobbed at seeing him alive and breathing, albeit exhausted and wounded; and I promised, I **promised**, that I would take care of him, as he had done so many times for me.

All throughout the next few days, everyone was recovering. I took most of the care of Merry, helping him to come back to normal, promising him a bit of my stash of pipe weed once we got back to the Shire (which he laughed about), and I pretended not to notice how Faramir observed Lady Eowyn (whose praises Merry was regularly singing; apparently she was as kind as she was beautiful).

I am unaccustomed to getting what I wanted by default, and so I always took what was handed to me. I held Merry's hand as we readied ourselves for the approach to the Black Gates. I smiled when we won the war, cried when I thought we lost Frodo, and smiled on his bedspread, when he'd finally come around. And do you know why?

Because for all my foolishness, I know more than you think; and I know for certain that not everything you want can be achieved. You have to make the best of what's left, because that's always better than good enough. Nobody is entitled to anything simply because they want it. This I know.

Hey, I'm a Took, aren't I?

* * *

_Soundtrack:  
One of the Dunedain Featuring "Evenstar" Performed by Isabel Bayrakdarian  
Howard Shore  
The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (The Complete Recordings)_

_Arwen's Fate Featuring "The Grace of the Valar" Performed by Sheila Chandra  
Howard Shore  
The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (The Complete Recordings)_


End file.
